His Christmas Cinderella! From New York Times bestselling author Barbara Dunlop.

These days, the only woman who interests Matt Emerson is the one working on his yacht. Even covered in grease, marine mechanic Tasha Lowell excites him. But he knows a romance with the boss isn’t part of her professional playbook.

Yet when a saboteur targets Matt’s charter-boat empire, Tasha agrees to be Matt’s date at a holiday ball to gather intel. Tasha was beautiful before the makeover, but now she takes his breath away. Suddenly, keeping this strictly business isn’t an option...

Twelve Nights of Temptation is part of the Whiskey Bay Brides trilogy.

“I want to kiss you.”

“That’s a bad idea,” Tasha said.

“Why?” Matt asked.

“The signature on my paycheck. Besides, I’m not that kind of girl.”

“The kind that kisses men?”

“The kind that randomly kisses men, while I’m working, in an engine room, covered in grease.”

“So, are there any circumstances under which you’d agree to kiss me? Maybe if we left the engine room? Perhaps if you washed off the grease?”

“Nice try.”

“I thought so.”

“You’re just not used to hearing the word no.”

“You’re right. It makes you even more attractive to me. Now I’m hoping against hope that you’ll admit you’re attracted to me.”

A flush came up on her cheeks. “We both know you struck out.”

“Maybe. But this is only the first inning. In fact, let’s call it batting practice.”

* * *

Twelve Nights of Temptation

is part of the Whiskey Bay Brides series:

Three friends find love on the shores of Whiskey Bay.

Dear Reader,

Welcome to the second book in the Whiskey Bay Brides series! The Pacific Northwest is one of the most beautiful places on earth. Where else can you go from skiing a snowy alpine run to swimming on a warm beach in only a few hours? The rugged beauty of Whiskey Bay is the perfect setting for romance.

In Twelve Nights of Temptation, marina owner Matt Emerson is the target of sabotage, which endangers both his fleet of luxury yachts and his hardworking staff. When he joins forces with his mechanic, Tasha Lowell, to catch the culprit, he finds himself seeing past her unadorned exterior to find a gorgeous woman beneath. But Tasha refuses to compromise her hard-won respect by dating the boss.

Then the stakes grow higher when Tasha becomes the target, and she and Matt are thrown together—at sea with no one to depend on but each other.

Barbara

Twelve Nights of Temptation

Barbara Dunlop

www.millsandboon.co.uk

New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author BARBARA DUNLOP has written more than forty novels for Mills & Boon, including the acclaimed Chicago Sons series for Mills & Boon Desire. Her sexy, lighthearted stories regularly hit bestseller lists. Barbara is a three-time finalist for the Romance Writers of America’s RITA® Award.

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For Jane Porter

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Extract

Extract

Copyright

One

A banging on Tasha Lowell’s bedroom door jarred her awake. It was midnight in the Whiskey Bay Marina staff quarters, and she’d been asleep for less than an hour.

“Tasha?” Marina owner Matt Emerson’s voice was a further jolt to her system, since she’d been dreaming about him.

“What is it?” she called out, then realized he’d never hear her sleep-croaky voice. “What?” she called louder as she forced herself from beneath the covers.

It might be unseasonably warm on the Pacific Northwest coast, but it was still December, the holiday season, and the eight-unit staff quarters building had been around since the ’70s.

“Orca’s Run broke down off Tyree, Oregon.”

“What happened?” she asked reflexively as she crossed the cold wooden floor on her bare feet. Even as she said the words, she knew it was a foolish question. Wealthy, urbane Matt Emerson wouldn’t know an injector pump from an alternator.

She swung the door open, coming face-to-face with the object of what she suddenly remembered had been a very R-rated dream.

“The engine quit. Captain Johansson says they’re anchored in the bay.”

This was very bad news. Tasha had been chief mechanic at Whiskey Bay Marina for less than two weeks, and she knew Matt had hesitated in giving her the promotion. He’d be right to hold her responsible for not noticing a problem with Orca’s Run’s engine or not anticipating some kind of wear and tear.

“I serviced it right before they left.” She knew how important this particular charter was to the company.

Orca’s Run was a ninety-foot yacht, the second largest in the fleet. It had been chartered by Hans Reinstead, an influential businessman out of Munich. Matt had recently spent considerable effort and money getting a toehold in the European market, and Hans was one of his first major clients. The last thing Whiskey Bay Marina needed was for the Reinstead family to have a disappointing trip.

Tasha grabbed the red plaid button-down shirt she’d discarded on a chair and put it on over her T-shirt. Then she stepped into a pair of heavy cargo pants, zipping them over her flannel shorts.

Matt watched her progress as she popped a cap on top of her braided hair. Socks and work boots took her about thirty seconds, and she was ready.

“That’s it?” he asked.

“What?” She didn’t understand the question.

“You’re ready to go?”

She glanced down at herself, then looked back into the dim bedroom. “I’m ready.” The necessities that most women carried in a purse were in the zipped pockets of her pants.

For some reason, he gave a crooked smile. “Then let’s go.”

“What’s funny?” she asked as she fell into step beside him.

“Nothing.”

They started down the wooden walkway that led to the Whiskey Bay Marina pier.

“You’re laughing,” she said.

“I’m not.”

“You’re laughing at me.” Did she look that bad rolling straight out of bed? She rubbed her eyes, lifted her cap to smooth her hair and tried to shake some more sense into her brain.

“I’m smiling. It’s not the same thing.”

“I’ve amused you.” Tasha hated to be amusing. She wanted people, especially men, especially her employer, to take her seriously.

“You impressed me.”

“By getting dressed?”

“By being efficient.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. It wasn’t quite sexist...maybe...

She let it drop.

They went single file down the ramp with him in the lead.

“What are we taking?” she asked.

“Monty’s Pride.”

The answer surprised her. Monty’s Pride was the biggest yacht in the fleet, a 115-footer, refurbished last year to an impeccably high standard. It was obvious what Matt intended to do.

“Do you think we’ll need to replace Orca’s Run?” She’d prefer to be optimistic and take the repair boat instead. Monty’s Pride would burn an enormous amount of fuel getting to Tyree. “There’s a good chance I can fix whatever’s gone wrong.”

“And if you can’t?”

“What did the captain say happened?” She wasn’t ready to admit defeat before they’d even left the marina.

“That it quit.”

It was a pathetic amount of information.

“Did it stop all of a sudden?” she asked. “Did it slow? Was there any particular sound, a smell? Was there smoke?”

“I didn’t ask.”

“You should have asked.”

Matt shot her a look of impatience, and she realized she’d stepped over the line. He was her boss after all.

“I’m just thinking that taking Monty’s Pride is a whole lot of fuel to waste,” she elaborated on her thinking. “We can save the money if I can do a quick repair.”

“We’re not even going to try a quick repair. I’ll move the passengers and crew over to Monty’s Pride while you fix whatever’s gone wrong.”

Tasha hated that her possible negligence would cost the company so much money. “Maybe if I talk to the captain on the radio.”

“I don’t want to mess around, Tasha.” Matt punched in the combination for the pier’s chain-link gate and swung it open.

“I’m not asking you to mess around. I’m suggesting we explore our options. Monty’s Pride burns a hundred gallons an hour.”

“My priority is customer service.”

“This is expensive customer service.”

“Yes, it is.”

His tone was flat, and she couldn’t tell if he was angry or not.

She wished she was back in her dream. Matt had been so nice in her dream. They’d been warm, cocooned together, and he’d been joking, stroking her hair, kissing her mouth.

Wait. No. That was bad. That wasn’t what she wanted at all.

“I want Hans Reinstead to go back to Germany a happy man,” Matt continued. “I want him to rave to his friends and business associates about the over-the-top service he received, even when there was a problem. Whether we fix it in five minutes or five hours is irrelevant. They had a breakdown, and we upgraded them. People love an upgrade. So much so, that they’re generally willing to gloss over the reason for getting it.”

Tasha had to admit it was logical. It was expensive, but it was also logical.

Matt might be willing to take the financial hit in the name of customer service, but if it turned out to be something she’d missed, it would be a black mark against her.

They approached the slip where Monty’s Pride was moored. A crew member was on deck while another was on the wharf, ready to cast off.

“Fuel?” Matt asked the young man on deck.

“Three thousand gallons.”

“That’ll do,” Matt said as he crossed the gangway to the stern of the main deck.

Tasha followed. Monty’s Pride’s twin diesel engines rumbled beneath them.

“Is my toolbox on board?” she asked.

“We put it in storage.”

“Thanks.” While they crossed the deck, she reviewed Orca’s Run’s engine service in her mind. Had she missed something, a belt or a hose? She thought she’d checked them all. But nobody’s memory was infallible.

“It could be as simple as a belt,” she said to Matt.

“That will be good news.” He made his way to the bridge, and she followed close behind.

She had to give it one last shot, so as soon as they were inside, she went for the radio, dialing in the company frequency. “Orca’s Run, this is Monty’s Pride. Captain, are you there?”

While she did that, he slid open the side window and called out to the hand to cast off.

She keyed the mike again. “Come in, Orca’s Run.”

Matt brought up the revs and pulled away from the pier.

* * *

Matt knew he had taken a gamble by using Monty’s Pride instead of the repair boat, but so far it looked like it had been the right call. Two hours into the trip down the coast, even Tasha had been forced to admit a quick fix wasn’t likely. She’d had Captain Johansson walk her through a second-by-second rehash of the engine failure over the radio, asking him about sounds, smells and warning lights. Then she had him send a deckhand back and forth from the engine room for a visual inspection and to relay details.

He’d been impressed by her thorough, methodical approach. But in the end, she concluded that she needed to check the engine herself. There was nothing to do for the next three hours but make their way to Tyree.

It was obvious she was ready to blame herself.

But even if the breakdown turned out to be her fault, it wasn’t the end of the world. And they didn’t even know what had happened. It was way too early to start pointing fingers.

“You should lie down for a while,” he told her.

She looked tired, and there was no point in both of them staying up all night.

“I’m fine.” She lifted her chin, gazing out the windshield into the starry night.

There were clusters of lights along the shore, only a few other ships in the distance, and his GPS and charts were top-notch. It was an easy chore to pilot the boat single-handed.

“You don’t have to keep me company.”

“And you don’t have to coddle me.”

“You have absolutely nothing to prove, Tasha.” He knew she took pride in her work, and he knew she was determined to do a good job after her promotion. But sleep deprivation wasn’t a job requirement.

“I’m not trying to prove anything. Did you get any sleep at all? Do you want to lie down?”

“I’m fine.” He knew she was perfectly capable of piloting the boat, but he’d feel guilty leaving all the work to her.

“No need for us both to stay awake,” she said.

“My date ended early. I slept a little.”

Since his divorce had been finalized, Matt and his friend TJ Bauer had hit the Olympia social circuit. They were pushing each other to get out and meet new people. They met a few women, most were nice, but he hadn’t felt a spark with any of them, including the one he’d taken out tonight. He’d come home early, done a little Christmas shopping online for his nieces and nephews and dozed off on the sofa.

“You don’t need to tell me about your dates,” Tasha said.

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Well, that’s too bad.” Her tone was lighter. It sounded like she was joking. “It might help pass the time.”

“Sorry,” he said lightly in return. “I wish I could be more entertaining. What about you?” he asked.

As he voiced the question, he found himself curious about Tasha’s love life. Did she have a boyfriend? Did she date? She was always such a no-nonsense fixture at the marina, he didn’t think of her beyond being a valued employee.

“What about me?” she asked.

“Do you ever go out?”

“Out where?”

“Out, out. On-a-date out. Dinner, dancing...”

She scoffed out a laugh.

“Is that a no?”

“That’s a no.”

“Why not?” Now he was really curious. She might dress in plain T-shirts and cargo pants, but underneath what struck him now as a disguise, she was a lovely woman. “Don’t you like to dress up? Do you ever dress up?”

He tried to remember if he’d ever seen her in anything stylish. He couldn’t, and he was pretty sure he’d remember.

She shifted on the swivel chair, angling toward him. “Why the third degree?”

“Since stories of my dates won’t distract us, I thought maybe yours could.” He found himself scrutinizing her face from an objective point of view.

She had startling green eyes, the vivid color of emeralds or a glacial, deep-water pond. They were framed in thick lashes. Her cheekbones were high. Her chin was the perfect angle. Her nose was narrow, almost delicate. And her lips were deep coral, the bottom slightly fuller than the top.

He wanted to kiss them.

“Nothing to tell,” she said. Her voice jolted him back to reality, and he turned to the windshield, rewinding the conversation.

“You must dress up sometimes.”

“I prefer to focus on work.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s satisfying.” Her answer didn’t ring true.

He owned the company, and he still found time for a social life. “I dress up. I date. I still find time to work.”

She made a motion with her hand, indicating up and down his body. “Of course you date. A guy like you is definitely going to date.”

He had no idea what she meant. “A guy like me?”

“Good-looking. Rich. Eligible.”

“Good-looking?” He was surprised that she thought so, even more surprised that she’d said so.

She rolled her eyes. “It’s not me, Matt. The world thinks you’re good-looking. Don’t pretend you’ve never noticed.”

He’d never given it much thought. Looks were so much a matter of taste. He was fairly average. He’d never thought there was anything wrong with being average.

“I’m eligible now,” he said.

The rich part was also debatable. He hadn’t had enough money to satisfy his ex-wife. And now that they’d divorced, he had even less. He’d borrowed money to pay her out, and he was going to have to work hard over the next year or two to get back to a comfortable financial position.

“And so are you,” he said to Tasha. “You’re intelligent, hardworking and pretty. You should definitely be out there dating.”

He couldn’t help but compare her with the women he’d met lately. The truth was, they couldn’t hold a candle to her. There was so much about her that was compelling. Funny that he’d never noticed before.

“Dazzle them with your intelligence and hard work.”

“Can we not do this?” she asked.

“Make conversation?”

“I’m a licensed marine mechanic. And I want people to take me seriously as that.”

“You can’t do both?”

“Not in my experience.” She slipped down from the high white leather chair.

“What are you doing?” he asked. He didn’t want her to leave.

“I’m going to take your advice.”

“What advice is that?”

“I’m going to lie down and rest.” She glanced at her watch. “You think two hours?”

“I didn’t mean to chase you away.”

“You didn’t.”

“We don’t have to talk about dating.” But then he took in her pursed lips and realized he still wanted to kiss them. Where was this impulse coming from?

“I have work to do when we get there.”

He realized he’d be selfish to stop her. “You’re right. You should get some sleep.”

As she walked away, he considered the implications of being attracted to an employee. He couldn’t act on it. He shouldn’t act on it.

Then he laughed at himself. It wasn’t like she’d given him any encouragement. Well, other than saying he was good-looking.

She thought he was good-looking.

As he piloted his way along the dark coastline, he couldn’t help but smile.

* * *

Tasha’s problem wasn’t dating in general. Her problem was the thought of dating Matt. He wasn’t her type. There was no way he was her type. She knew that for an absolute fact.

She’d dated guys like him before—capable, confident, secure in the knowledge that the world rolled itself out at their feet. She knew all that. Still, she couldn’t seem to stop herself from dreaming about him.

They’d arrived off Tyree and boarded Orca’s Run shortly after dawn. Tall and confident, he’d greeted the clients like he owned the place—which he did, of course.

Tasha had kept to the background, making sure her toolbox was moved discreetly on board, while Matt had charmed the family, apologizing for the delay in the trip, offering Monty’s Pride as a replacement, explaining that the larger, faster yacht would easily make up the time they’d lost overnight.

It was obvious the client was delighted with the solution, and Tasha had turned her attention to the diesel engine. It took her over an hour to discover the water separator was the problem. In an unlikely coincidence, the water-in-fuel indicator light bulb had also broken. Otherwise, it would have alerted her to the fact that the water separator was full, starving the engine of fuel.

The two things happening together were surprising. They were more than surprising. They were downright strange.

From their anchorage in Tyree, Matt had taken the launch and run for parts in the small town. And by noon, she’d replaced the water separator. While she’d worked, she’d cataloged who’d had access to Orca’s Run. Virtually all the staff of Whiskey Bay Marina had access. But most of them didn’t know anything about engines.

There were a couple of contract mechanics who did repairs from time to time. And there were countless customers who had been on the property. She found her brain going in fantastical directions, imagining someone might have purposely damaged the engine.

But who? And why? And was she being ridiculously paranoid?

She had no idea.

While she’d worked, diesel fuel had sprayed her clothes and soaked into her hair, so she’d used the staff shower to clean up and commandeered a steward’s uniform from the supply closet.

After cleaning up, her mind still pinging from possibility to possibility, she made her way up the stairs to the main cabin. There she was surprised to realize the yacht wasn’t yet under way.

“Did something else go wrong?” she asked Matt, immediately worried they had another problem.

He was in the galley instead of piloting the yacht. The deckhand had stayed with Monty’s Pride, since the bigger ship needed an extra crew member. Matt and Tasha were fully capable of returning Orca’s Run to Whiskey Bay.

“It’s all good,” Matt said.

“We’re not under power?” Her hair was still damp, and she tucked it behind her ears as she approached the countertop that separated the galley from the main living area.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, placing a pan on the stove.

She was starving. “Sure. But I can eat something on the way.”

“Coffee?”

“Sure.”

He extracted two cups from a cupboard and poured. “Monty’s Pride is headed south. Everyone seems happy.”

“You were right,” she admitted as she rounded the counter. “Bringing Monty’s Pride was a good idea. I can cook if you want to get going.”

He gave a thoughtful nod. “This charter matters.”

“Because it’s a German client?”

“It’s the first significant booking out of the fall trade show. He’s a prominent businessman with loads of connections.”

“I’m sorry I argued with you.” She realized her stance had been about her pride, not about the good of the company.

“You should always say what you think.”

“I should listen, too.”

“You don’t listen?”

“Sometimes I get fixated on my own ideas.” She couldn’t help but revisit her theory about someone tampering with the engine.

Matt gave a smile. “You have conviction. That’s not a bad thing. Besides, it keeps the conversation interesting.”

He handed her a cup of coffee.

She took a sip, welcoming the hit of caffeine.

He seemed to ponder her for a moment. “You definitely keep things interesting.”

She didn’t know how to respond.

His blue eyes were dark but soft, and he had an incredibly handsome face. His chin was square, unshaven and slightly shadowed, but that only made him look more rugged. His nose was straight, his jaw angular and his lips were full, dark pink, completely kissable.

Warm waves of energy seemed to stream from him to cradle her. It was disconcerting, and she shifted to put some more space between them. “The engine was interesting.”

Mug to his lips, he lifted his brow.

“The odds of the water separator filling and the indicator light going at the same time are very low.”

His brow furrowed then, and he lowered the mug. “And?”

“Recognizing that this is my first idea, and that I can sometimes get fixated on those, it seems wrong to me. I mean, it seems odd to me.”

“Are you saying someone broke something on purpose?”

“No, I’m not saying that.” Out loud, it sounded even less plausible than it had inside her head. “I’m saying it was a bizarre coincidence, and I must be having a run of bad luck.”

“You fixed it, so that’s good luck.”

“Glass half-full?”

“You did a good job, Tasha.”

“It wasn’t that complicated.”

A teasing glint came into his eyes. “You mean, you’re that skilled?”

“The cause was peculiar.” She could have sworn she’d just serviced the water separator. “The repair was easy.”

Their gazes held, and they fell silent again. Raindrops clattered against the window, while the temperature seemed to inch up around her. Her dream came back once again, Matt cradling her, kissing her. Heat rose in her cheeks.

She forced herself back to the present, trying to keep her mind on an even keel. “It could have been excess water in the fuel, maybe a loose cap. I did check it. At least I think I checked it. I always check it.” She paused. “I hope I checked it.”

He set down his mug. “Don’t.”

She didn’t understand.

He took a step forward. “Don’t second-guess yourself.”

“Okay.” It seemed like the easiest answer, since she was losing track of the conversation.

He took another step, and then another.

Inside her head, she shouted for him to stop. But she didn’t make a sound.

She didn’t want him to stop. She could almost feel his arms around her.

He was right there.

Thunder suddenly cracked through the sky above them. A wave surged beneath them, and she grabbed for the counter. She missed, stumbling into his chest.

In a split second, his arms were around her, steadying her.

She fought the desire that fogged her brain. “Sorry.”

“Weather’s coming up,” he said, his deep voice rumbling in her ear and vibrating her chest, which was pressed tight against his.

“We won’t be—” Words failed her as she looked into his blue eyes, so close, so compelling.

He stilled, the sapphire of his eyes softening to summer sky.

“Tasha.” Her name was barely a breath on his lips.

She softened against him.

He lowered his lips, closer and closer. They brushed lightly against hers, then they firmed, then they parted, and the kiss sent bolts of pleasure ricocheting through her.

She gripped his shoulders to steady herself. A rational part of her brain told her to stop. But she was beyond stopping. She was beyond caring about anything but the cataclysmic kiss between them.

It was Matt who finally pulled back.

He looked as dazed as she felt, and he blew out a breath. “I’m...” He gave his head a little shake. “I don’t know what to say.”

She forced herself to step back. “Don’t.” She had no idea what to say either. “Don’t try. It was just...something...that happened.”

“It was something,” he said.

“It was a mistake.”

He raked a hand through his short hair. “It sure wasn’t on purpose.”

“We should get going,” she said, anxious to focus on something else.

The last thing she wanted to do was dissect their kiss. The last thing she wanted to do was admit how it impacted her. The last thing she wanted her boss to know was that she saw him as a man, more than a boss.

She couldn’t do that. She had to stop doing it. In this relationship, she was a mechanic, not a woman.

“We’re not going anywhere.” He looked pointedly out the window where the rain was driving down.

Tasha took note of the pitching floor beneath her.

It was Matt who reached for the marine radio and turned the dial to get a weather report.

“We might as well grab something to eat,” he said. “This could last awhile.”

Two

Waiting out the storm, Matt had fallen asleep in the living area. He awoke four hours later to find Tasha gone, and he went looking.

The yacht was rocking up and down on six-foot swells, and rain clattered against the windows. He couldn’t find her on the upper decks, so he took the narrow staircase, making his way to the engine and mechanical rooms. Sure enough, he found her there. She’d removed the front panel of the generator and was elbow deep in the mechanics.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

She tensed at the sound of his voice. She was obviously remembering their kiss. Well, he remembered it, too, and it sure made him tense up. Partly because he was her boss and he felt guilty for letting things get out of hand. But partly because it had been such an amazing kiss and he desperately wanted to do it again.

“Maintenance,” she answered him without turning.

He settled his shoulder against the doorjamb. “Can you elaborate?”

“I inspected the electric and serviced the batteries. Some of the battery connections needed cleaning. Hoses and belts all look good in here. But it was worth changing the oil filter.”

“I thought you would sleep.”

This was above and beyond the call of duty for anyone. He’d known Tasha was a dedicated employee, but this trip was teaching him she was one in a million.

She finally turned to face him. “I did sleep. Then I woke up.”

She’d found a pair of coveralls somewhere. They were miles too big, but she’d rolled up the sleeves and the pant legs. A woman shouldn’t look sexy with a wrench in her hand, a smudge of oil on her cheek, swimming in a shapeless steel gray sack.

But this one did. And he wanted to do a whole lot more than kiss her. He mentally shook away the feelings.

“If it was me—” he tried to lighten the mood and put her at ease “—I think I might have inspected the liquor cabinet.”

She smiled for the briefest of seconds. “Lucky your employees aren’t like you.”

The smile warmed him. It turned him on, but it also made him happy.

“True enough,” he said. “But there is a nice cognac in there. Perfect to have on a rainy afternoon.” He could picture them doing just that.

Instead of answering, she returned to work.

He watched for a few minutes, struggling with his feelings, knowing he had to put their relationship back on an even keel.

Work—he needed to say something about work instead of sharing a cozy drink.

“Are you trying to impress me?” he asked.

She didn’t pause. “Yes.”

“I’m impressed.”

“Good.”

“You should stop working.”

“I’m not finished.”

“You’re making me feel guilty.”

She looked his way and rolled her eyes. “I’m not trying to make you feel guilty.”

“Then what?”

“The maintenance needed doing. I was here. There was an opportunity.”

He fought an urge to close the space between them. “Are you always like this?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, überindustrious?”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He did move closer. He shouldn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t bring up their kiss. But he desperately wanted to bring it up, discuss it, dissect it, relive it. How did she feel about it now? Was she angry? Was there a chance in the world she wanted to do it again?

“It’s an unnerving thing,” he said.

“Then, you’re very easily unnerved.”

He couldn’t help but smile at her comeback. “I’m trying to figure you out.”

“Well, that’s a waste of time.”

“I realize I don’t know you well.”

“You don’t need to know me well. Just sign my paycheck.”

Well, that was a crystal clear signal. He was her boss, nothing more. He swallowed his disappointment.

Then again, if he was her boss, he was her boss. He reached forward to take the wrench from her hand. “It’s after five and it’s a Saturday and you’re done.”

Their fingers touched. Stupid mistake. He felt a current run up the center of his arm.

Her grip tightened on the wrench as she tried to tug it from his grasp. “Let it go.”

“It’s time to clock out.”

“Seriously, Matt. I’m not done yet.”

His hand wrapped around hers, and his feet took him closer still.

“Matt.” There was a warning in her voice, but then their gazes caught and held.

Her eyes turned moss green, deep and yielding. She was feeling something. She had to be feeling something.

She used her free hand to grasp his arm. Her grip was strong, stronger than he’d imagined. He liked that.

“We can’t do this, Matt.”

“I know.”

She swallowed, and her voice seemed strained. “So let go.”

“I want to kiss you again.”

“It’s a bad idea.”

“You’re right.” His disappointment was acute. “It is.”

She didn’t step back, and her lips parted as she drew in a breath. “We need to keep it simple, straightforward.”

“Why?”

“The signature on my paycheck.”

“Is that the only reason?” It was valid. But he was curious. He was intensely curious.

“I’m not that kind of girl.”

He knew she didn’t mean to be funny, but he couldn’t help but joke. “The kind that kisses men?”

“The kind that randomly kisses my boss—or any coworker for that matter—while I’m working, in an engine room, covered in grease.”

“That’s fair.”

“You bet, it’s fair. Not that I need your approval. Now, let go of my hand.”

He glanced down, realizing they were still touching. The last thing he wanted to do was let her go. But he had no choice.

She set down the wrench, replacing it with a screwdriver. Then she lifted the generator panel and put it in place.

He moved away and braced a hand on a crossbeam above his head. “The storm’s letting up.”

“Good.” The word sounded final. Matt didn’t want it to be final.

He was her boss, sure. He understood that was a complication. But did it have to be a deal breaker? But he wanted to get to know her. He’d barely scratched the surface, and he liked her a lot.

* * *

They’d brought Orca’s Run back to the marina, arriving late in the evening.

Tasha had spent the night and half of today attempting to purge Matt’s kiss from her mind. It wasn’t working. She kept reliving the pleasure, then asking herself what it all meant.

She didn’t even know how she felt, never mind how Matt felt. He was a smooth-talking, great-looking man who, from everything she’d seen, could have any woman in the world. What could possibly be his interest in her?

Okay, maybe if she’d taken her mother’s advice, maybe if she’d acted like a woman, dressed like a woman and got a different job, maybe then it would make sense for Matt to be interested. Matt reminded her so much of the guys she’d known in Boston, the ones who’d dated her sisters and attended all the parties.

They’d all wanted women who were super feminine. They’d been amused by Tasha. She wasn’t a buddy and she wasn’t, in their minds, a woman worth pursuing. She hadn’t fit in anywhere. It was the reason she’d left. And now Matt was confusing her. She hated being confused.

So, right now, this afternoon, she had a new focus.

Since she’d been promoted, she had to replace herself. Matt employed several general dock laborers who also worked as mechanical assistants, and they pulled in mechanical specialists when necessary. But one staff mechanic couldn’t keep up with the workload at Whiskey Bay. Matt owned twenty-four boats in all, ranging from Monty’s Pride right down to a seventeen-foot runabout they used in the bay. Some were workboats, but most were pleasure craft available for rental.

Cash flow was a definite issue, especially after Matt’s divorce. It was more important than ever that the yachts stay in good working order to maximize rentals.

Tasha was using a vacant office in the main marina building at the edge of the company pier. The place was a sprawling, utilitarian building, first constructed in 1970, with major additions built in 2000 and 2010. Its clay-colored steel siding protected against the wind and salt water.

Inside, the client area was nicely decorated, as were Matt’s and the sales manager’s offices. But down the hall, where the offices connected to the utility areas and eventually to the boat garage and the small dry dock, the finishing was more Spartan. Even still, she felt pretentious sitting behind a wooden desk with a guest chair in front.

She’d been through four applicants so far. One and two were nonstarters. They were handymen rather than certified marine mechanics. The third one had his certification, but something about him made Tasha cautious. He was a little too eager to list his accomplishments. He was beyond self-confident, bordering on arrogant. She didn’t see him fitting in at Whiskey Bay.

The fourth applicant had been five minutes late. Not a promising start.

But then a woman appeared in the doorway. “My apologies,” she said in a rush as she entered.

Tasha stood. “Alex Dumont?”

“Yes.” The woman smiled broadly as she moved forward, holding out her hand.

Tasha shook it, laughing at herself for having made the assumption that Alex was a man.

“Alexandria,” the woman elaborated, her eyes sparkling with humor.

“Of all people, I shouldn’t make gender assumptions.”

“It happens so often, I don’t even think about it.”

“I hear you,” Tasha said. “Please, sit down.”

“At least with the name Tasha nobody makes that mistake.” Alex settled into the chair. “Though I have to imagine you’ve been written off a few times before they even met you.”

“I’m not sure which is worse,” Tasha said.

“I prefer the surprise value. That’s why I shortened my name. I have to say this is the first time I’ve been interviewed by a woman.”

Alex was tall, probably about five foot eight. She had wispy, wheat-blond hair, a few freckles and a pretty smile. If Tasha hadn’t seen her résumé, she would have guessed she was younger than twenty-five.

“You’re moving from Chicago?” Tasha asked, flipping through the three pages of Alex’s résumé.

“I’ve already moved, three weeks ago.”

“Any particular reason?” Tasha was hoping for someone who would stay in Whiskey Bay for the long term.

“I’ve always loved the West Coast. But mostly, it was time to make a break from the family.”

Tasha could relate to that. “They didn’t support your career choice?” she guessed.

“No.” Alex gave a little laugh. “Quite the opposite. My father and two brothers are mechanics. They wouldn’t leave me alone.”

“Did you work with them?”

“At first. Then I got a job with another company. It didn’t help. They still interrogated me every night and gave me advice on whatever repair I was undertaking.”

“You lived with them?”

“Not anymore.”

Tasha couldn’t help contrasting their experiences. “I grew up in Boston. My parents wanted me to find a nice doctor or lawyer and become a wife instead of a mechanic. Though they probably would have settled for me being a landscape painter or a dancer.”

“Any brothers and sisters?”

“Two sisters. Both married to lawyers.” Tasha didn’t like to dwell on her family. It had been a long time since she’d spoken to them. She stopped herself now, and went back to Alex’s résumé. “At Schneider Marine, you worked on both gas and diesel engines?”

“Yes. Gas, anywhere from 120-horse outboards and up, and diesel, up to 550.”

“Any experience on Broadmores?”

“Oh, yeah. Finicky buggers, those.”

“We have two of them.”

“Well, I’ve got their number.”

Tasha couldn’t help but smile. This was the kind of confidence she liked. “And you went to Riverside Tech?”

“I did. I finished my apprenticeship four years ago. I can get you a copy of my transcript if you need it.”

Tasha shook her head. “I’m more interested in your recent experience. How much time on gasoline engines versus diesel?”

“More diesel, maybe seventy-five/twenty-five. Lots of service, plenty of rebuilds.”

“Diagnostics?”

“I was their youngest mechanic, so I wasn’t afraid of the new scan tools.”

“You dive right in?” Tasha was liking Alex more and more as the interview went on.

“I dive right in.”

“When can you start?”

Alex grinned. “Can you give me a few days to unpack?”

“Absolutely.”

Both women came to their feet.

“Then, I’m in,” Alex said.

Tasha shook her hand, excited at the prospect of another female mechanic in the company. “Welcome aboard.”

Alex left, but a few minutes later, Tasha was still smiling when Matt came through the door.

“What?” he asked.

“What?” she returned, forcibly dampening her exhilaration at the sight of him.

She couldn’t do this. She wouldn’t do this. They had an employer-employee relationship, not a man-woman relationship.

“You’re smiling,” he said.

“I’m happy.”

“About what?”

“I love my job.”

“Is that all?”

“You don’t think I love my job?” She did love it. And she had a feeling she’d love it even more with Alex around.

“I was hoping you were happy to see me.”

“Matt.” She put a warning in her voice.

“Are we going to just ignore it?”

She quickly closed the door to make sure nobody could overhear. “Yes, we’re going to ignore it.”

“By it, I mean our kiss.”

She folded her arms over her chest and gave him a glare. “I know what you mean.”

“Just checking,” he said, looking dejected.

“Stop.” She wasn’t going to be emotionally manipulated.

“I’m not going to pretend. I miss you.”

“There’s nothing to miss. I’m right here.”

“Prepared to talk work and only work.”

“Yes.”

He was silent for a moment. “Fine. Okay. I’ll take it.”

“Good.” She knew with absolute certainty that it was for the best.

He squared his shoulders. “Who was that leaving?”

“That was Alex Dumont. She’s our new mechanic.”

Matt’s brows went up. “We have a new mechanic?”

“You knew I was hiring one.”

“But...”

Tasha couldn’t help an inward sigh. She’d seen this reaction before. “But...she’s a woman.”

“That’s not what I was going to say. I was surprised, is all.”

“That she was light on testosterone?”

“You keep putting words in my mouth.”

“Well, you keep putting expressions in your eyes.”

He opened his mouth, but then he seemed to think better of whatever he’d planned to say.

“What?” she asked before she could stop herself.

“Nothing.” He took a backward step. “I’m backing off. This is me backing off.”

“From who I hire?”

Matt focused in on her eyes. His eyes smoldered, and she felt desire arc between them.

“I can feel it from here,” he said, as if he was reading her mind.

Her brain stumbled. “There’s...uh... I’m...”

“You can’t quite spit out the lie, can you?”

She couldn’t. Lying wouldn’t help. “We have to ignore it.”

“Why?”

“We do. We do, Matt.”

There was a long beat of silence.

“I have a date Saturday night,” he said.

A pain crossed her chest, but she steeled herself. “No kidding.”

“I don’t date that much.”

“I don’t pay any attention.”

It was a lie. From the staff quarters, she’d seen him leave his house on the hill on many occasions, dressed to the nines. She’d often wondered where he’d gone, whom he’d been with, how late he’d come home.

And she’d watched him bring women to his house. They often dined on the deck. Caterers would set up candles and white linens, and then Matt and his date would chat and laugh the evening away.

She’d paid attention all right. But wild horses wouldn’t drag the admission out of her.

* * *

So Saturday night, Matt had picked up the tall, willowy, expensively coiffed Emilie and brought her home for arctic char and risotto, catered by a local chef. They were dining in his glass-walled living room to candlelight and a full moon. The wine was from the Napa Valley, and the chocolate truffles were handcrafted with Belgian chocolate.

It should have been perfect. Emilie was a real estate company manager, intelligent, gracious, even a little bit funny. She was friendly and flirtatious, and made no secret of the fact that she expected a very romantic conclusion to the evening.

But Matt’s gaze kept straying to the pier below, to the yachts, the office building and the repair shop. Finally, Tasha appeared. She strode briskly beneath the overhead lights, through the security gate and up the stairway that led to the staff quarters. Some of his staff members had families and houses in town. The younger, single crew members, especially those who had moved to Whiskey Bay to work at the marina, seemed to appreciate the free rent, even if the staff units were small and basic. He was happy at the moment that Tasha was one of them.

He reflexively glanced at his watch. It was nearly ten o’clock. Even for Tasha, this was late.

“Matt?” Emilie said.

“Yes?” He quickly returned his attention to her.

She gave a very pretty smile. “I asked if they were all yours?”

“All what?”

“The boats. Do you really own that many boats?”

“I do,” he said. He’d told this story a hundred times. “I started with three about a decade ago. Business was good, so I gradually added to the fleet.”

He glanced back to the pier, but Tasha had disappeared from view. He told himself not to be disappointed. He’d see her again soon. It had been a few days now since they’d run into each other. He’d tried not to miss her, but he did. He’d find a reason to talk to her tomorrow.

Emilie pointed toward the window. “That one is huge.”

“Monty’s Pride is our largest vessel.”

“Could I see the inside?” she asked, eyes alight. “Would you give me a tour?”

Before Matt could answer, there was a pounding on his door.

“Expecting someone?” she asked, looking a little bit frustrated by the interruption.

His friends and neighbors, Caleb Watford and TJ Bauer, were the only people who routinely dropped by. But neither of them would knock. At most, they’d call out from the entryway if they thought they might walk in on something.

Matt rose. “I’ll be right back.”

“Sure.” Emilie helped herself to another truffle. “I’ll wait here.”

The date had been going pretty well so far. But Matt couldn’t say he was thrilled with the touch of sarcasm he’d just heard in Emilie’s voice.

The knock came again as he got to the front entry. He swung open the door.

Tasha stood on his porch, her work jacket wrinkled, a blue baseball cap snug on her head and her work boots sturdy against the cool weather.

His immediate reaction was delight. He wanted to drag her inside and make her stay for a while.

“What’s up?” he asked instead, remembering the promise he’d made, holding himself firmly at a respectful distance.

“Something’s going on,” she said.

“Between us?” he asked before he could stop himself, resisting the urge to glance back and be sure Emilie was still out of sight.

Tasha frowned. “No. With Pacific Wind.” She named the single-engine twenty-eight-footer. “It’s just a feeling. But I’m worried.”

He stepped back and gestured for her to come inside.

She glanced down at her boots.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I have a cleaning service.”

“A cable broke on the steering system,” she said.

“Is that a major problem?”

He didn’t particularly care why she’d decided to come up and tell him in person. He was just glad she had.

It was the first time she’d been inside his house. He couldn’t help but wonder if she liked the modern styling, the way it jutted out from the hillside, the clean lines, glass walls and unobstructed view. He really wanted to find out. He hadn’t been interested in Emilie’s opinion, but he was curious about Tasha’s.

“It’s not a big problem,” she said. “I fixed it. It’s fixed.”

“That’s good.” He dared to hope all over again that this was a personal visit disguised as business.

“Matt?” came Emilie’s voice.

He realized he’d forgotten all about her.

“I’ll just be a minute,” he called back to her.

“You’re busy,” Tasha said, looking instantly regretful. “Of course you’re busy. I didn’t think.” She glanced at her watch. “This is Saturday, isn’t it?”

“You forgot the day of the week?”

“Matt, honey.” Emilie came up behind him.

Honey? Seriously? After a single date?

Not even a single date, really. The date hadn’t concluded yet.

“Who’s this?” Emilie asked.

There was a dismissive edge to her voice and judgment in her expression as she gave Tasha the once-over, clearly finding her lacking.

The superior attitude annoyed Matt. “This is Tasha.”

“I’m the mechanic,” Tasha said, not seeming remotely bothered by Emilie’s condescension.

“Hmph,” Emilie said, wrinkling her perfect nose. She wrapped her arm possessively through Matt’s. “Is this an emergency?”

Tasha took a step back, opening her mouth to speak.

“Yes,” Matt said. “It’s an emergency. I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut our date short.”

He wasn’t sure who looked more surprised by his words, Emilie or Tasha.

“I’ll call you a ride.” He took out his phone.

It took Emilie a moment to find her voice. “What kind of emergency?”

“The mechanical kind,” he said flatly, suddenly tired of her company.

He typed in the request. He definitely didn’t want Tasha to leave.

“But—” Emilie began.

“The ride will be here in three minutes,” he said. “I’ll get your coat.”

He did a quick check of Tasha’s expression, steeling himself for the possibility that she’d speak up and out him as a liar.

She didn’t.

He quickly retrieved Emilie’s coat and purse.

“I don’t mind waiting,” Emilie said, a plaintive whine in her voice.

“I couldn’t ask you to do that.” He held up the coat.

“How long do you think—”

“Could be a long time. It could be a very long time. It’s complicated.”

“Matt, I can—” Tasha began.

“No. Nope.” He gave a definitive shake to his head. “It’s business. It’s important.” It might not be critical, but Tasha had never sought him out after hours before, so there had to be something going on.

“You’re a mechanic?” Emilie asked Tasha.

“A marine mechanic.”

“So you get all greasy and stuff?”

“Sometimes.”

“That must be awful.” Emilie gave a little shudder.

“Emilie.” Matt put a warning tone in his voice.

She crooked her head back to look at him. “What? It’s weird.”

“It’s not weird.”

“It’s unusual,” Tasha said. “But women are up to nearly fifteen percent in the mechanical trades, higher when you look at statistics for those of us under thirty-five.”

Emilie didn’t seem to know what to say in response.

Matt’s phone pinged.

“Your ride’s here,” he told Emilie, ushering her toward the door.

Tasha stood to one side, and he watched until Emilie got into the car.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Tasha said as he closed the door.

“It wasn’t going well.”

“In that case, I’m happy to be your wingman.”

Matt zeroed in on her expression to see if she was joking. She looked serious, and he didn’t like the sound of that.

“I don’t need a wingman.”

“Tell me what’s going on.” He gestured through the archway to the living room.

She crouched down to untie her boots.

“You don’t have to—”

“Your carpet is white,” she said.

“I suppose.”

Most of the women he brought home wore delicate shoes, stiletto heels and such.

Tasha peeled off her boots, revealing thick wool socks. For some reason, the sight made him smile.

She rose, looking all business.

“Care for a drink?” he asked, gesturing her forward.

She moved, shooting him an expression of disbelief on the way past. “No, I don’t want a drink.”

“I opened a great bottle of pinot noir. I’m not going to finish it myself.”

“This isn’t a social visit,” she said, glancing around the room at the pale white leather furniture and long, narrow gas fireplace.

She was obviously hesitant to sit down in her work clothes.

“Here,” he suggested, pointing to the formal dining room. The chairs were dark oak, likely less intimidating if she was worried about leaving dirt on anything.

While she sat down, he retrieved the pinot from the glass porch and brought two fresh glasses.

He sat down cornerwise to her and set down the wine.

She gave him an exaggerated sigh. “I’m not drinking while I work.”

“It’s ten o’clock on a Saturday night.”

“Your point?”

“My point is you’re officially off the clock.”

“So, you’re not paying me?”

“I’ll pay you anything you want.” He poured them each some of the rich, dark wine. “Aren’t you on salary?”

“I am.”

“You work an awful lot of overtime.”

“A good deal for you.”

“I’m giving you a raise.” He held one of the glasses out for her.

“Ha ha,” she mocked.

“Take it,” he said.

She did, but set it down on the table in front of her.

“Twenty percent,” he told her.

“You can’t do that.”

“I absolutely can.” He raised his glass. “Let’s toast your raise.”

“I came here to tell you I might have made a big mistake.”

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